


Miles: A Bump in the Road

by lyricalsoul



Series: Miles to Keep [2]
Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Casual Clothes!Mycroft, I hope that's puke, Insecure!Lestrade, M/M, Miles is a bit sick, Miles is recreating scenes from The Exorcist, No one is leaving, insecure!Mycroft, let's straighten it out, mystrade, parenting, there's a swear jar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-27
Updated: 2012-08-27
Packaged: 2017-11-13 00:08:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/497193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyricalsoul/pseuds/lyricalsoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The British Government and the Detective Inspector hit a bump in the road to raising a happy baby. Just a tiny bump, but it shakes them up a bit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Miles: A Bump in the Road

**Author's Note:**

> This bit was supposed to be hilarious, but the angst train came along, and Mycroft got on it, and Greg followed. It worked out all right, but why do they have to be so stubborn???
> 
> Disclaimer: Miles is loosely based on a baby who may or may not be my nephew, affectionately known as Little Mycroft. All I know about babies, I learned from watching him. (My kids are 17, so... yeah.)
> 
> ***reposted as part of a series instead of a chapter thing*** sorry for the confusion
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks to all who read and give kudos. I really, truly appreciate everyone who stops by.

On the morning after our first night as full-fledged fathers, I come home from a late night call-out, and head straight for the bedroom, wanting nothing more than a hot shower, and a nap. What I get instead is a foul smell, and what looks like a remake of The Exorcist.

There are dirty nappies scattered about, suspicious stains on the eider, dirty towels tossed on the floor, and a fine layer of baby powder on just about everything. In the midst of the madness is Mycroft, who manages to look gloriously dignified in a powder covered t-shirt, stained with what I hope is only puke, a pair of ratty track pants with suspicious wet spots on the front and back, and his hair sticking out at odd angles. “Oh, this is priceless.” I take out my phone, and start recording. “The British Government, brought to its knees by a baby.”

“Put that away and hand me those wipes,” he says, and he sounds worse than he does after a day of dealing with the Americans.

Taking pity on him, I stop recording, pocket my phone, and hand over the box of baby wipes from the nightstand. “What happened?”

“Obviously, he got sick. Threw up all over… everything, including me, our bed, and himself, then had a bit of diarrhoea.”

“Why didn’t you call me? I’d have come home.”

“We managed,” he says tersely. “Hopefully, that was the last round of nappy changes. For his sake, as well as mine.”

“He’s three months old! How can he smell so foul?” I peer down at the Miles, who is lying in our bed, sucking his on his hand. “No offence, Miles, but you smell awful. Yes, you do.”

“Shush, Gregory… you’ll give him a complex.” He fits the nappy into place like a pro, snaps the cute red and blue romper into place, and slips a tiny pair of red socks on Miles’ feet. “He’ll be one of those people who can’t go to the toilet unless he’s in a closet because you traumatised him.”

“Yes, because he understands exactly what I’m saying.”

“I remember many things about my babyhood,” Mycroft retorts with just a hint of snootiness. “And even though your suspect eluded you today, you are an exceptional detective. Miles will most likely have your above average attention to detail and organizational skills.”

I blush at the praise, and clear my throat. “Yes, well, there’s that. Plus, he’ll have constant exposure to a Holmes. I’m sure nurture will win out over nature.”

“All the more reason to be careful with him, and what we expose him to.” Mycroft picks up the baby, holds him above his head for a few seconds, then hugs him close. “We don’t want to make you a nervous boy, do we, Miles?”

Miles gurgles in response, and for the hundredth time since last night, I marvel that this beautiful, happy baby can make my mostly taciturn husband coo and smile. “What made him sick? Looks like he went through a case of nappies since I left.”

“Just five,” Mycroft supplies. “I consulted a pediatrician; he determined that the switch to an enriched formula is the most likely culprit.”

I look at him carefully. “By ‘consulted’, I hope you mean you spoke on the phone. We have a son now, Mycroft. You can’t kidnap people – it’s a bad example.”

He sighs. “Consulted by phone, Gregory. I hardly use those warehouses these days.”

“Still…”

“So noted. As I was saying, the doctor agreed that his ah, caretakers weren’t very particular about what they fed him, and the sudden change wreaked havoc on his digestive system. I had some Pedialyte brought over to replenish the nutrients he lost so he doesn’t get dehydrated. I’ll have Anthea fetch the doctor this evening to give Miles a thorough check-up. And before you ask, he’s coming willingly.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“No, but I could hear you thinking it.” He holds out Miles to me. “Would you like to do the honours of giving him the bottle while I clean up?”

“Um… I can clean up, if you want to rest a bit…looks like he was a handful last night, and you probably didn’t get much sleep, so…”

“I’m fine,” he says easily, but I can see the deductive wheels turning, belying the easy tone. “I’m not quite sure about you, though.”

“I, ah…the guy did get away, but we’ve got leads, and um…” Damn it. The worst thing you can do when trying to subvert a Holmes is hem and haw. It’s like blood in the shark pool. Shit. “What I mean is-“

“Gregory, please.” I can feel his shrewd gaze taking in every bit of information he can glean from the way I’m standing, my hair, the dirt on my shoes from chasing a crazy murderer through the park last night… everything is a clue to him. Years of working with Sherlock has taught me that. But as is his way with me, Mycroft doesn’t push, doesn’t rattle off any deductions, or make mention of my clenched right fist. He simply gives me The Slow Blink, which a sure sign that he’s seen straight through me. “I have it on good authority that last night’s call should have gone to Dimmick, but you fixed it so it would come to you. And today, you don’t want to hold him, which leads me to believe that you’re reluctant to bond with our son. Is there something you wish to tell me?”

“No!” I swallow hard. “No.”

He doesn’t say a word. He simply waits for me to break.

As much as I’d like to make this into a battle of wills by trying to wait him out, I don’t, because Mycroft could stand there in the same position for days. Maybe even weeks. With the baby. And this is exactly why he **is** the British Government. I sigh again. “Well…to be honest, I went on that call last night because I… ah, well… I don’t want you to get the wrong idea…”

“Oh, that you practically ran from the house last night, and preferred chasing a murderer over staying and getting to know our son didn’t give me the wrong idea?”

I feel my cheeks burning with shame. Silly me, thinking he wouldn’t notice. “Well… I’m afraid to get too attached to him. What if Tessa comes back for him? I don’t think I could take it if she took him to Canada.”

“Oh, Gregory,” he tisks, “when will you learn to trust me?”

I duck my head in embarrassment. Trust was a bone of contention early in our relationship, and I suppose I may still have a few issues surrounding the matter. “It’s not you, it’s me.”

“You said that when you went back to Tessa the second time.” His tone is light and breezy, but knowing him as well as he’s allowed me to, I can hear the minute trace of bitterness there. “Though it has worked out overwhelmingly in my favour, the odds that you will go off with Miles, find a sweet girl from Ottery St. Mary, and start a private detective business are alarmingly higher than I’d like.”

“Really, Mycroft?” I bristle at the implication that our marriage isn’t serious to me. A hot rush of angry words bubble up, but instead of starting what promises to be an epic battle, I stop, and take a deep, calming breath, determined to focus on the real issue. “Why would I do that? Look at you… you’re smitten with Miles! Why would I take him, take that away from you?”

“I’m also smitten with you,” he shrugs. “I was both times you walked away.”

“We’re **married** , you sod!”

“I am well aware that it’s now harder for you to leave me, but not impossible.”

I shove a hand through my hair and blow out my breath in a huff. “I’m not going anywhere. Neither is Miles.”

“He’s your biological son… I don’t have any rights to him.”

“Don’t have any-” I growl low in my throat, frustrated at his insecurity, and that it dare rear its head when I’m feeling insecure myself. “Then what were all those fucking papers I signed last night?”

With a hand over Miles’ ear, he looks at me with both eyebrows raised.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” I pull out my wallet and grab all the money in it. “Might as well shove it all in there,” I mutter, trudging over to the piggy bank. “Because I’m just going to swear more in a few minutes.” I push the bills into the slot, and turn to him, arms folded.

“You certainly don’t have to swear.”

“You’re pushing me, and you know it. We’re his parents, Mycroft Holmes. You practically bought him from my bloody ex-wife, pulled every goddamned string in the book to make it legal, and I agreed to raise him with you. If the paperwork isn’t… well, if it can’t hold up under scrutiny-“

“It is authentic, and will stand up in any court in the world.”

“Then what the fuck are you on about?”

“I’m simply letting you know that I am aware that you could walk away with him if you wished to do so. Regardless of the legal documents.”

Miles lets out a wail, and I throw a cross look at Mycroft. “See? You’ve upset him with your bullshit. Making him feel unwanted.”

“Yes, and your fear of bonding with him isn’t affecting him at all.” He holds out the baby, who is squirming and making a sound like a distressed kitten. “Tessa’s not coming back, Gregory. Ever. I’ve seen to it that she won’t, and that’s all I’m going to say on the matter. Either you trust me, or you don’t, but don’t make Miles suffer for it. Now please take him so I can get these nappies into the bin out back. The smell is giving me a headache.”

“Fine.” My tone is sharp and firm, but I gently take Miles, and the bottle. “It’s all right, little lamb…” I soothe. “We didn’t mean to make you cry… we just… shh, it’s all right…” I sit down in the leather rocker-slash-recliner in the corner of the room, which was the one piece of furniture I dragged from my study that will go in Miles’ room. Jean-Claude can just decorate around it, or find a suitable fancy replacement. I’m not going to spend nights in the nursery sitting on a hard piece of wood like some old maid. I watch as Miles sucks down the contents of the bottle, his hands fisted on it like he can actually hold it. Maybe he can… what do I know? I rock back and forth, one eye on Mycroft as he bustles in and out of the room, the other eye on Miles, making sure he doesn’t choke or jump out of my arms.

“He’s not old enough to jump.” Mycroft shakes out a clean baby sheet with a snap. “You don’t have to hold him so tightly.”

“Ah. Sorry.” I loosen my grip on Miles’ back, and pat him gently. “He makes me nervous. Should I be holding his neck or something?”

“His neck is already quite strong – he’ll be sitting up in another few weeks, and he’s quite adept at holding the bottle if you guide his hands. He is very determined to move about on his own.”

“You’re yards better at this than I am. It’s unnerving.”

“Perhaps more determined to get it right,” he says with a tight smile. “I am, after all, a Holmes.”

“You are,” I concede. “I’m sorry.”

“As am I.” This time the smile is less tight, with a bit of warmth. “We should have a long discussion about our expectations. Our relationship-“

“Marriage.”

“Marriage,” he continues as if I hadn’t corrected him, “is still new, and now we’ve added a baby. And it would seem I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“Me, too. We’ll get worse at it before we get better.” I look down at Miles. “I’m probably biased, but he is a rather good looking baby.”

Mycroft gathers up the pile of towels places them – by colour – at the foot of our bed. When we get his room sorted, they’ll go in the chest of drawers, I suppose. “Of course he is. Look at genes he’s inherited – your eyes, and that smile… there is a reason I married you.”

“You said it was for my Gran’s béchamel recipe.”

“There is that,” he laughs, and the tension between us immediately eases. “But it wasn’t the only reason.”

“Her croissants, then.”

“Definitely in the top five.”

“Mycroft.”

“Gregory.” He dips his head, and looks away. “I should let you know that Mummy will most likely come around when Jean-Claude visits today. “

“Oh, no…” Helene “The Queen” Holmes is a force of nature that one can only barely prepare for with a month’s advance notice. While she isn’t on par with Mycroft or Sherlock with the deductions, she is a deadly combination of dottiness, observation, and bluntness that can make any visit like a walk in a minefield. If something catches her attention, she has no qualms about expounding on it – loudly and embarrassing. “Did she ring?”

“She didn’t. However, I am well-versed in my mother’s habits. Her curiosity about Miles will drive her here; that Jean-Claude is coming will make her stay. She is rather fond of babies and decorating. It will be worse than usual, and you’ll be very overwhelmed by the time Jean-Claude arrives. I won’t blame you if you’d rather take Miles for a stroll in the park…”

“Bugger.”

Mycroft looks at the baby, then at me.

With a sigh, I shift the baby, dig into my pocket for the few coins I have left and hold them out to him with a glare. “That’s all I’ve got left. At this rate, I’ll be paying his pension.”

“Hm.” He takes the change from my hand, and plunks it in the piggy bank. “As much as you swear, you’ll be funding his children’s pension.”

“Maybe I’ll stop then, because I can’t afford it. As it is, I’ll need money for lunch tomorrow.” I take the bottle away and look at it. Empty. Miles blinks at the loss, and squirms a bit. “Oh, you’re a hungry one, hm? Wanting to eat and eat until you puke?”

“A true Lestrade,” is Mycroft’s dry observation.

“Says the man who has sensuous dreams about prime rib roast and Yorkshire pudding. Come on, Little Miles, let’s get you all burped.” I put the burping cloth on my shoulder, and hoist Miles up, pressing him against my chest. “Why do we burp babies? The gas will expel itself. And just how does patting help when you’re a baby, but not when you’re an adult?”

“Let’s not over-analyse it, Gregory, though I will say that a baby will burp in any position, not just over the shoulder. Some things are just habits and old wives’ tales. It would be a plus if you’d just read the book.”

Just overnight, the book – What to Expect: The First Year has become the bible in our house. I think there are at least seven copies, and I know for a fact it’s been downloaded to Mycroft’s phone, laptop, and tablet. Even Anthea got a copy. “Yeah, there’s one in the loo, with the pages earmarked, and a highlighter taped to the back. I thought you’d be more subtle.”

“Well, only the best for our son.”

“Right, but books don’t know everything. Some things we can only learn by experience.”

Miles lets out a small burp.

“There you go, big boy.” I hold him away from me and smile at the toothless grin on his face. “He seems to be a pretty well-adjusted baby, considering.”

“He does,” Mycroft agrees. He puts a strong hand on the back of my neck. “Are you… we all right?”

“We are,” I respond with a look up at him. “I don’t want to be anywhere else but here, with you. And I promise that I won’t ever deny you access to our son.” A giddy sort of feeling rushes over me, and I laugh. “Our son, Mycroft. We have a son.”

“We do, Gregory, and he’s a beautiful ray of sunshine.” He sighs. “Mummy will tell us we’re doing everything wrong.”

“We probably are, but we can’t be the worst at it.”

“We aren’t, but I’m referring today. She’ll disparage what he’s wearing, how long I bathed him, how we should use organic products, that the lotion we’re using killed a baby in America, and so forth… nothing will please her because she did it ten times better, and with a sickly husband. And Sherlock. I don’t want you to be unprepared for that.”

“That’s nothing new. Thankfully, she doesn’t dislike me, but I ‘m sure you remember the grilling she gave me right after we returned from our Roman honeymoon? When she asserted that I hadn’t, ah, ‘taken care of business in the boudoir’ because you went to work the day after we returned? If I recall, she asked if we shared the ‘receiving duties’.”

“God, yes,” he says, his cheeks reddening. “And I do apologize, once again.”

“Not necessary. She and Jean-Claude won’t get on, will they?”

“No. And it will be amusing to see which queen will reign supreme. I’m betting that Mummy will have Jean-Claude tearing out his hair in an hour. Any takers?”

“I’m giving Jean-Claude fifteen minutes before he blows his stack and bans her from the nursery. Loser has to take the early morning feeding and bath shift on the week-end.”

“You’re on.” He trails a hand across the nape of my neck, and down my shoulder. “Shower and a phone conference with the Home Secretary, which is always tedious, so I most likely won’t join you until lunch. If anything comes up, I’ll be in my office. You’ll feed Miles?”

“Sure. What does he eat?”

“Formula, Gregory. He’s not ready for beans on toast yet. You know we’re going to have to look into a nanny sometime soon.” He looks at me thoughtfully, then adds, “ A homely, grandmotherly type, who loves to knit. A spinster, sharp minded, and excellent with children, but has had no interest in men since the passing of Paul Newman.”

“Hilarious,” I say, reluctantly getting up from the recliner. “Let’s go, Miles. Your father has to go and run the world.” I plant a hard, fast kiss on Mycroft’s slightly parted lips, then give his bum a quick pat. “Off you go.”

He kisses Miles soundly on the forehead. “If you get lost, read the book, Gregory. And don’t forget the dummy. And he likes-“

“Mycroft, go to work. I’m going to work on sending that video to John for his blog.”

“You forget that I have access to much more humiliating video, Gregory. I’d think twice before conspiring with John…”

“Spoilsport.”

“Yes. Don’t be afraid to cry if you need me, Miles…”

 

TBC…


End file.
